


Every Good Thing

by Salt_Teen



Series: disconnect [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and therapy oh my god, please someone give him therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salt_Teen/pseuds/Salt_Teen
Summary: Inhumane. Unbearable. Untouchable.That is Gavin Reed.
Series: disconnect [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788922
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Every Good Thing

Inhumane. 

They're right to call him that, they always have been. Why wouldn't they be, it's what he is, after all. What he made himself into. 

Gavin isn't nice to people, but they were never nice to him. They never helped him, they only pushed him further and further away. 

They only told him that he should know better. 

He didn't. How could he? How was he supposed to learn when all anyone ever did was break him down?

Spite is dangerous. It is red hot and corrosive. It boils inside him, burning everything it touches. There is not a single drop of blood in his body, there is only hatred. Seething and rolling in his veins.

They said he should know better, and he was going to prove them all wrong just because he could.

Inhumane. Unbearable. Untouchable. 

That is Gavin Reed. 

He had been called those things over such small problems. That was fine, if they thought he was inhumane, then he would show them how inhumane he could get. 

It made him feel powerful. It satisfied him. And only  _ after _ when everything was said and done would he feel bad. Only after would he regret the things he had done.

By day, he ran on anger and the impulses that ran through his mind. Break. Hit. Bite. Punch. Whatever his sick little heart desired. Whatever sounded cruel and hurtful. Whatever he could get away with.

By night, guilt consumed his every thought. He could not call out for help, he could not move, he could not even cry. 

Every night he spent beating any thought of apologies or mending the bridges he had burned into a neat little box. And in the morning, he locked up the box and pushed it to the back of his mind. 

That was how he found himself staring at the girl he had just pushed off of the slide, she was crying and holding her wrist- which was purple- to her chest. That was how he found himself behind a convenience store, bleeding from a gash on his face. That was how he found himself, thirtysomething, friendless, and working in a police station. 

That was why he's finding himself standing alone at a grave in the middle of winter. 

A single tear slides down his face. Another comes, and another after that, and suddenly, it's like a dam has burst. 

Guilt, heavy and painful, brings him to his knees. He claws at the dead grass under him, desperate for it to stop.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, the words taste bitter. "I'm so, so sorry."

Gavin doesn't know what's worse, knowing he'd never said those words to anyone, or knowing the woman lying six feet under him wouldn't believe him. Could he blame her? She had given her son everything and he had given her nothing in return. 

She had died, and nobody knew about it. She had no friends, and no family besides him. Gavin would probably die the same way. Alone. Forgotten immediately.

His phone rings as he's driving home. He doesn't catch all of it, but he can tell that they want him to come in for something. 

Cold fingers curl tightly around an even colder steering wheel. The drive there should be plenty of time to pull himself back together. To swallow everything down and keep spitting the vile persona he had been pushing out since he learned how to do it.

Inhumane.

Deep down, the word has carved itself into him. Inseparable from the rest of him.

No matter how much he can separate the good and the bad in himself, he can never stop caring. Everything good had been scrubbed into nothing, but for some reason, he still cares.

He cares that he has hurt people. That he can't save everyone he comes across in his work. That he couldn't give his mother a better send-off. 

But he still hurts people anyway. He never tries harder to help others. No one knew his mom was dead.

And that fact alone? It's worse than every good thing he had taken out of himself. Enough to negate any attempts he ever makes to fix things.

Maybe that's what they meant. 

Inhumane… 

They're right, he's the worst of them all.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know, just thinking about a different path i could have taken in life...


End file.
